


Cursed Cock™

by Dark_Desires (Gays_and_Memes)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cursed Cock, F/M, Implied Consent, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, No Healing Cock, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 10:01:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30104238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gays_and_Memes/pseuds/Dark_Desires
Summary: This dark fic was inspired by a conversation about what a Cursed Cock™️  (the antonym to Magical Healing Cock) fic might look like.TRIGGER WARNING/NOTE: While all parties are consenting adults, rough emotionally damaging sex and self-harm are mentioned and alluded to. Descriptions of the sex itself are only mildly explicit.
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Cursed Cock™

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CuteAsAMuntin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuteAsAMuntin/gifts).



I walked in a daze, lethargy and melancholy thickly coating me inside and out like I’d been dipped in blackstrap molasses. If it weren’t for the stimulants, I’d still be curled up on the floor of my room, too empty to cry, too despondent to rise. I’d say I didn’t know where I was going, but deep down I did. I was going to the place I always go when I feel this ache. 

I took a deep breath when I finally reached my destination. I stared, bleary-eyed, at the dirty, grainy wood of his door as I slowly let my breath out. Once I felt completely empty of oxygen, of life really, I knocked, bowing my head forward as I leaned against the doorframe for support. I briefly considered whether it was physical or emotional strength I needed before the door opened and I looked up, my own eyes widening reflexively when they met his. 

He arched one eyebrow, not saying a word but standing aside to let me in. We had done this often enough that it was pretty much routine. I shivered slightly as I thought about that. My darkness came and went, but his was always there, a permanent resident in an otherwise unassuming figure. 

I tossed my bag on the floor just inside the door, half surprised to realize that I’d actually remembered it this time. His girlfriend nodded to me in greeting before taking a drag on her cigarette and turning back to the tv. She joined us sometimes, but it looked like today she wasn’t in the mood. Good. I enjoyed her touch too much. Her pleasure, given and received. I don’t come here to feel pleasure. I come here to feel pain. 

He grabbed me by the hair just above the nape of my neck, pushing me down the hall and towards the bedroom. I didn’t resist, but my legs just barely complied. When we arrived and he pushed me to my knees, I dropped hard and heavy like an anchor, the last of my strength finally leaving my body. 

I stared at him blankly as he pulled out his cock, my mouth already hanging open. Drool pooled in the corners of my mouth as I became more lax, physically and mentally. He slapped his cock against my cheek a few times before shoving it between my lips, growling as he plunged it against the back of my throat. 

I hung there limply, held up by a fist in my hair and a hand braced below my jaw, a hair’s breadth away from being a chokehold. He didn’t hold back, already aware that I’d left my gag reflex behind in college. Time always felt fuzzed in this state. You could hold me at knifepoint and I wouldn’t be able to tell you for how long he facefucked me. Though if you held me at knifepoint, I might refuse to answer just to feel the pain. 

I felt hands under my arms and suddenly I was on the bed. He rolled me onto my stomach, a mess of blankets and sheets twisted together pressed into my skin. I felt his weight on top of me and his arm slide under my chest as he reached for my face, pressing it into the mattress. This is the point where I fully disconnect each time, my emotional energy following the physical—leaching out and away, leaving only the pain. 

I’ve heard it takes me a while to ‘wake up’ afterward. I’m never sure how long because time has no meaning while I’m having an episode. Sometimes I wake up there, but more often now I wake up in my apartment. I have no memories of getting there, only what comes after. The blood, the pills, the mirthless laughter. The pain that pushes me ever closer from the broken body and mind I inhabit—to home. 

  



End file.
